


Part of the Plan

by 37h4n0l



Category: 91 Days (Anime)
Genre: M/M, poor corty-baby, the angelo/corteo is one-sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8021176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/37h4n0l/pseuds/37h4n0l
Summary: Corteo hears and sees things he didn't want to. (Just a drabble of Corteo-centric angst involving avilero)





	Part of the Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Although I do ship this love triangle, I have a preference for avilero, so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Corteo is more and more confused about Angelo every day. Something has changed in his impassiveness, something hard to pinpoint, maybe a slight wrinkle near his eye or mouth, a new interest in the way he looks around himself. He has changed, god knows if for better or worse. While he’s certainly not Angelo Lagusa, he’s also not the Avilio Bruno Corteo met after seven years of them being apart. 

 

He’s in the unsettlingly big Vanetti mansion, Frate Vanetti is allegedly dead, Angelo and Nero are nowhere to be seen. Corteo suddenly becomes aware that he has no idea what he’s doing in this place or generally this position in life. His feet make a muffled sound as they tap on the floor, and as elegant as the interior design might be, it still feels like a nightmare. One door follows the other. He wishes he could just find his friend, his  _ only _ friend, for whom he’s given up on his ideal life, just to see if he’s fine. It was hard for him to accept how jaded Angelo has become, but Corteo decides to be patient and put up with it. That’s what friends do, after all. Care about each other. And he’s sure that, deep down, Angelo cares about him too.

 

His feelings towards the other man have been quite abnormal lately, and he’s been wondering what’s wrong with him and whether he should tell Angelo or not. That he’s the only one he cares about, the only one worth being in the mafia for, the only highlight of his bland and unfulfilled life. 

 

His breath hitches when something unusual finally catches his ears. It’s coming from behind the semi-discolsed door at the middle of the corridor. Corteo stops. He can’t make out the short phrase, but it sounds a lot like “Nero”. The tone sounds familiar, too. There’s a brief pause. He moves closer. 

 

“Starting today, I’ll be your brother.”

 

Corteo’s eyes widen, his heart sinks and his hands start shaking in cold sweat. He knows he’s being silly, standing there in the Vanettis’ family house, so unreasonably upset because of an overheard conversation. He has to step back; in fact, he backs off until he reaches the wall on the other side of the corridor, leaning his back against it to support himself. He’s panting hard. 

 

_ He used the same words _ , and it feels as if a part of his bond with Angelo - and a part of him - has been destroyed.  _ He used the same words _ with his enemy, the person he loathes the most in this world. Corteo digs his nails into the wallpaper at the sides of his thighs. Words have no meaning, right? Words can’t hurt anyone, words  _ shouldn’t _ hurt anyone, especially when the tactical motivation behind them is very clear. And yet, Corteo has to become painfully aware of just how attached he is to Angelo when his stomach constricts and twist due to anxiety, nausea looming over him. 

 

Should he go back to the door? His body feels heavy and glued to the wall, but his feet are moving on their own accord. He’s doing something rather pitiful and dishonorable, which furthermore could get him into trouble, in case anyone sees him spying on private conversations. But then again, this is Angelo’s plan. Oh yes, the plan behind all of this, the one that was only told to him and no one else. Corteo calms down a little remembering that. He approaches the door on tiptoes.

 

Something isn’t right. He can’t hear speech anymore. Instead, there’s a stream of unclassifiable sounds coming from inside the room, something akin to heavy breathing. Corteo tries not to think as his steps get more and more reluctant.  _ This is part of the plan, all of it _ . Everything Angelo does around Nero is  _ part of the plan _ .

 

And he finally catches a glimpse of his face in the gap, the moonlight seeping in from outside illuminating a patch of his pale skin. Corteo steps closer, watches more carefully- And he freezes in place. He’s positive now that the lump in his throat is preventing him from breathing. 

 

Those images reflected in his eyes - are they  _ part of the plan _ ? Is Angelo, lying on his back on top of the desk, suppressing a loud moan  _ part of the plan _ ? His disheveled hair and clothes, his forehead shining with sweat, his bare leg thrown over Nero’s shoulder? It’s hard to see everything through the narrow door opening. Corteo forgets to blink or swallow. He watches as Nero fucks Angelo, ruthlessly and violently, one hand holding his thigh. His fingers dig into the other’s flesh so hard his knuckles have turned white. The Vanetti hasn’t even bothered to undress. 

 

Corteo is waiting for Angelo to fight back, grab something and take his chance to kill his enemy. Being as agile as he is, he certainly could. Maybe Nero is stronger, maybe this is happening against his  _ friend’s _ will. That’s what Corteo would like to believe, despite the faint blush on Angelo’s face, his hooded eyes and his very obvious erection. He starts losing it when Nero slams into Angelo from a new angle and the latter accidentally lets his voice out, gagging himself with his own palm just a second later. Corteo grasps at the fabric of his shirt above his heart, which is about to jump out of his chest. 

 

“Ahhh… Nero-!” Comes another groan, suffocated and reduced to a whisper. “They’re gonna find us.”

 

“Let them” the Vanetti replies, small objects on the desk trembling due to his thrusts, “I don’t fucking care.”

 

Their voyeur slowly steps away, although the muscles in his legs don’t seem too willing to obey him and he almost stumbles backwards. Corteo does his best to try and drag himself away from the scene. He cleans his glasses and wipes his forehead and hands, but it’s useless, because he can’t stop sweating. 

 

The corridor around him looks like it’s getting narrower every second. It’s dark outside the window, only faint gleams of moonlight seeping through. As he looks for the exit with quick, panicky steps, musing on how to rationalize and explain this away, there’s only one image burned into his mind: Angelo’s face in that moment. It’s a face full of struggle, lust and intrigue. A face he’s never seen before.


End file.
